The Problem with Dreams

Many years ago I realized and took to heart the practical advice that you can never count on someone else to make your dreams come true. It will simply never happen. First off, that’s way too much of a burden to put on someone. Not to mention, nobody cares that much. They’re too busy with their own dreams. The sad truth is that some of us—most of us—were born into situations where personal failure is ultimately inevitable. Some opportunities will never be afforded to us. My only goal in life is to be a socialite in the rock and roll scene, but that can never happen due to three main circumstances.

1) I don’t live in New York City, and I’m unwilling to sacrifice my comfort as is necessary to endure the higher cost of living.
2) Being a socialite requires socializing, which is something I loathe, fear, and am generally incapable of.
3) There is no more rock and roll scene.

People have criticized my lack of effort toward realizing my dream, despite the above obstacles, but the truth is that I’m a very ambitious person. What I lack is creativity and an ability to problem-solve. Had I a brilliant idea for accomplishing my dream, I would pursue it relentlessly. But, in the ten years that achieving “rock and roll socialite” status has been my only real ambition, I’ve never had a good enough idea to pursue long-term. The Blue Jean Babies was the best I came up with, and we had a few good years. We were definitely recognized as #3, after the Plastics and the BBA’s. We had magazine interviews, and we would have been featured on E! had we lived in closer proximity to one another. But somehow, the momentum died. We were heading up, up, up in establishing our presence, and then we disappeared. So, that didn’t work out either.

I’m starting to think I need to reevaluate my situation and find another way to be noteworthy. I’ve always denounced anywhere other than Chicago, New York, or L.A. as places people go to die inside, but maybe I don’t need a big city since I’ll never be part of a big social scene. Maybe what I need is to have adventures—constantly experiencing new and different things that people might find to be of interest. Would anyone read a book about my life, even if I never achieved any level of fame or status, but had some cool stories to tell?

My only other idea is going to Exit every single night for the rest of my life until they recognize me.

Let's talk about parents of young children and how they're some of the most self-absorbed assholes on the planet. If you've ever read the blog www.stfuparentsblog.com, you definitely know what I'm talking about, although even those of you unfamiliar with the blog have probably experienced similar agitation in situations where parents talk about their kids like they're the most important people in the world. There is an unmistakable tendency among parents to assume that all of society should be immensely concerned about their children at all times. Just look at the popularity of those enraging "Baby On Board" signs. Tell me I'm not the only one who wants to run those minivans off the road whenever I see those signs. Where does a parent get the nerve to announce to everyone else that their car is special and deserves extra protection because there's a miniature version of a person inside it? How could anyone be so arrogant as to think that all the rest of us give a damn? The other day I was at a craft fair downtown, and from behind me, I heard this angry mother snap, "You're pushing my son, lady!" I so badly wished I had known if she was directing her bitchy comment at me, because I would have whipped right around and yelled, "Is there a problem, you stupid fucking cunt?" Why this emphasis, as if her son was so much more important than everyone else in the massive crowd of people? Newsflash, I don't give a shit about your kid. Your kid means no more to me than anyone else on the face of this earth. At the grocery store the other day, a mom was digging through a sale bin outside while her toddler was inside, leaning against the automatic door and looking out. I was heading inside, so I slowly, slowly, slowly approached the door, waiting for the kid to move or for the mom to notice, but I guess I inched too close, and the door opened anyway. The kid didn't get hurt, but he did get pushed backwards and looked pretty stunned. I felt bad because the kid was obviously too young to understand automatic doors, but this oblivious mom who wasn't paying any attention to her little troublemaker had the nerve to give me a dirty look! Oh, yeah, I forgot, it's totally my fucking fault for not going out of my way to cater to your moronic child's needs. I should have just waited another 15 minutes for him to stop drooling on the door before I decided to go inside to shop. Seriously, I don't get it. I can't understand this mentality of parents thinking they and their kids are more important than everyone else and should get special treatment. So let me put it in really simple terms here: Parents, I don't give a flying fuck about your stupid, worthless children.